On Change

Submitted by John on Thu, 2007-03-15 22:07.

When I dance from the inside out, I don't know what's coming next, but I trust that it's okay and good. Sometimes what comes is something that I want to stay in for a while. It's comfortable. It feels good and right. Sometimes what comes is a bridge to a greater thing.

All change creates tension, which give opportunity for fear, anger, pulling in. There is an equal opportunity for adventure, for new discovery, for trusting the unknown.

How can you trust what is not known? In the end, you just do. You take a leap, you let go. It is our fear that generates more fear. It is the openness of heart, mind, and spirit that seeks and finds new light.

We walk through doors, climb through windows, and cross over bridges. This is how we move. We trust ourselves, our feet, our hearts, and those around us who help hold the space. And we dance forever from the inside out.

Tango Says:
Sat, 2007-03-17 10:59

Faith in the unknowing. I've been sitting with this for awhile now. This intentional, conscious state of having faith in the unknowing. Is faith and trust the same, John? I'm wondering about that and would love to have a conversation about it. I don't know.

Faith in the unknowing, faith in what I do not know, will never really know. Faith that in the "not knowing", I can be unchained from fear. Faith that not knowing means growth and blossoming and wonder and "a'ha"s. For me, it requires letting go. I think of how much room there would be inside of me if my fear shrank just a little. Imagine what could take its place! That would mean I actually have to live a full, conscious, bigger life. Why is that so hard?

Julia Says:
Sat, 2007-03-17 17:06

I don't know why its so hard, I seem to be so terrified by the fear that the only way emotion comes out is to cry. It feels like my soul is dead sometimes.

John Says:
Sat, 2007-03-17 11:20

Yes, a full discussion would be most helpful, for me, too.

Sometimes when I dance, I move in an unexpected way and I feel that I'm losing my balance. Then, my body automatically corrects itself, sometimes by counter-balancing, sometimes by quickly shifting a leg to support me. In either case, what I needed was there when I needed it. I could predict neither the unbalancing nor the means of correction and support. It all came from trusting that unknown space by giving myself to the motion of my body.

Perhaps life works that way, too. We have within us whatever it is that we need. It always shows up at the right time, but if we never take a risk, never let go into what scares us, we don't experience the grace of support because it isn't needed.

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